


Against the Odds

by purpleeyesandbowties



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Illness, Medical, based on my own personal experiences with pkd, i dont even know how to tag this, im not sure what to tag, polycystic kidney disease, yall need to let me know if i should warn for content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7373053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleeyesandbowties/pseuds/purpleeyesandbowties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack had a Stanley Cup win, the love of his life at his side, and three years of professional hockey under his belt when his life dramatically changed— again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys. I'm going to be honest with you. This fic is an elaborate coping mechanism for myself. I was diagnosed with Polycystic Kidney Disease three months ago, at the age of 18. Talking/writing about it is pretty much my only way of dealing with the serious, incurable illness I suddenly have to deal with. Almost all of Jack's experiences (of the illness itself and getting diagnosed) are drawn directly from my own diagnosis and struggle with PKD. Any medical inaccuracies are because I am young and confused and was probably filled with crushing anxiety when the doctors were explaining what the fuck was wrong with me. Any other mistakes are because this is too personal to share with a beta. (So obviously I'm going to share it with the entire internet instead).

Jack had a Stanley Cup win, the love of his life at his side, and three years of professional hockey under his belt when his life dramatically changed— again. 

He woke up early (as usual) one morning in late summer. He was careful not to jostle Bitty as he rolled from the bed, but after three years of bed-sharing, he’d perfected his technique. Bitty muttered something under his breath, grabbing at the blanket Jack tossed back over him. Jack smiled at his boyfriend-burrito, brushing back a stray piece of hair from his forehead. 

 

Today’s workout would be a quick one— just a run outside while it was still relatively cool, then back to the apartment for a shower and (hopefully) some time with Bitty before they had to go their separate ways. Jack winced at the pain in his back, stretching carefully. Yesterday morning, he’d woken with an intense pain in his lower back, focused on the left side. He’d gone to his trainer about it, but he assured Jack that it was nothing major. Probably just a remnant of hard check he’d taken during practice. It should clear up within a few days. Still, Jack took his time stretching. He’d hate to be out for the first game of the season, which was fast approaching. He downed a glass of water in the dark kitchen and headed to the bathroom. 

 

Bitty was jolted awake by a startled yelp coming from the direction of the bathroom. Groggily, he crawled out of bed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Jack? Babe, what is it? Is there a spider in the bathroom or something?” 

Bitty’s question didn’t get a response, so he knocked and pushed open the door. Jack was staring into the toilet, a look of confusion and horror on his face.

He’d peed without really thinking about it, his mind wandering to the rest of his day. It was only after he’d finished and went to flush that he looked down. The toilet bowl was filled with dark brownish-red liquid. It was thick and dark, so much so that he couldn’t see the bottom of the bowl.

“What the fuck…?” he whispered. He registered Bitty’s hand on his shoulder, an identical look of surprise on his face.

“Bits, did you use a new cleaner in the toilet overnight?” he asked, really hoping that was the case. If he hadn’t then this was…..

Bitty shook his head slowly. “No. I….is that blood?”

“I….think so.”

“Is that… _your_ blood?”

“I think so,” Jack said.

“Huh.” Bitty said. Jack could tell he was doing his best to keep calm, which was good because Jack’s panic instinct had kicked in big time.

“Hold on,” Bitty said. Jack nodded vaguely. Bitty’s feet padded down the hall. He returned with his phone in hand. He snapped a picture of the bloody water, closed the lid, and flushed.

“Okay, baby,” he said, taking Jack’s arm. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

“I—” Jack almost said he really needed to go on that run— it would do him no good to skip a workout— but then he remembered the amount of blood that had just come out of him and closed his mouth.

“That’s right,” Bitty said, patting him on the arm. “I’ll give George a call.”

—

“George said to see a doctor. You are excused from practice for the day.”

Before Jack could protest, Bitty held up a hand. “Nope. You have two weeks before your first game, the rest of the team is looking good, Tater is filling in for the C while you’re sick, and you work harder than God. Now sit down and eat your french toast.”

Jack sat, moodily shoving (delicious) french toast in his mouth. If George said he was excused from practice, that meant that she would personally remove him from the premises if he stepped foot in the rink. He knew from experience.

While Bitty was on hold, trying to get Jack a doctor’s appointment for that morning, Jack gulped two and half glasses of water. The only way to see if this…..whatever it was……was a bizarre one-time deal was to pee again. Bitty shunted him to the couch and Jack let himself be shunted. He was grateful when Bitty curled up next to him. They watched TV for a while, Jack half-dozing against Bitty’s chest. He woke up every once in a while to drink a little more water. After almost an hour, he stood up suddenly.

“Bathroom?” Bitty asked. Jack nodded. Bitty gave him a tight-lipped smile. 

—

Jack flopped back on the couch two minutes later.

“Well?” Bitty asked. Jack just shook his head. 

“Worse. More red, less brown.”

“That’s not good.”

“Hmm. No.”

—

The doctor’s appointment was a lot like any other doctor’s appointment Jack had had over the years. He still hated hospitals— too many bad memories— but the clinic was okay. Having Bitty there helped with his anxiety, too. Bitty sat in the waiting room while Jack went back with the doctor. 

Doctor Morrison said his vitals looked perfectly fine. His blood pressure was a little elevated, but she assured Jack that was probably because of his anxiety. Nothing to worry about.

“So,” Doctor Morrison said, settling into her chair. She pulled up Jack’s electronic file. “What brings you here today, Mr. Zimmeramann?”

“Well. This morning when I went to the bathroom, there was….a lot of blood in my urine.”

“Any pain while urinating?”

“No.”

“How many times have you urinated today?”

“Three.”

“Blood every time?”

Jack nodded. “It keeps getting clearer. It started out dark and cloudy, but now it’s just pinkish-red.”

“How much water are you drinking?”

“I’ve had about forty-eight ounces today.”

“Okay, then I assume you’re well-hydrated, so there’s no yellow element in your urine and all that’s left is the blood.”

She tapped away on her keyboard. Jack’s leg jiggled nervously while he waited. Without looking, Doctor Morrison pulled a plastic cup from a shelf above her desk.

“Please get a urine sample in this cup. With how much you’ve been drinking I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

Jack nodded. He’d done plenty of pee tests in his life, so this at least was familiar territory.

 

He left the sample for the lab to evaluate and sat in the doctor’s exam for an agonizing twenty minutes. To pass the time, he sent an apology to the Falconer’s group chat for missing practice. The chat responded quickly, telling him he needed a break anyway and that he should focus on getting better. Tater asked him if he could have Jack’s C if Jack died. Jack laughed. 

**Jack:** i’m not gonna die tater. 

**Tater:** aw :( 

**Tater:** not that i want you to die, zimboni. i want the C though

**Jack:** i guess you’ll just have to kill me for it

**Poots:** wait dont give him that option he might

Jack was about to respond again when Doctor Morrison opened the door. He pocketed his phone, anxiety swooping through his stomach. She huffed a humorless laugh.

“Your pee does _not_ look good, son.”

“It’s that bad?” he asked.

“Well,” she continued. “There is a _lot_ of blood in there. I sent a culture in for testing. We’ll know in a few days if there’s an infection. I suspect you have a bladder infection plus hemorrhaging in the lining of your bladder.”

“Oh.”

“So I’m going to put you on some anti-bionics for a week. If it hasn’t cleared up by then, come back to see me.”

She ripped a piece of paper off her pad, handing it to him.

“I need you to take it easy this week. If you’re anything like your father was, I won’t be able to keep you off the ice, but try not to take any hard impacts to your stomach area. Rest as much as possible and drink lots of water. Weights are fine, but no running. You don’t want your bladder to bleed any more than it already is.”

—

Jack rarely took a day off, let alone a whole week. It was weird to wake up and not go for a run or get ready for practice. Bitty took advantage of that time to pamper his boyfriend— and Jack didn’t really mind. There were worse fates than having his boyfriend cook amazing cheat meals and cuddle with him on the couch. 

His situation didn’t improve over the course of the next few days, though. If anything, the blood to pee ratio only increased. It was worse in the mornings, Jack noted, and got clearer throughout the day. On the third day, he got a Skype call from his parents.

“Hey, Jack,” his father said once their connection had stabilized. Both Zimmermann parents looked distinctly worried and Jack immediately felt bad for not calling them sooner.

“Maman. Papa. I’m sorry for not calling you lately.”

“Jack, George called us. Are you sick?”

Jack nodded and filled them in on his doctor’s visit. “It’s just a bladder infection, though. Nothing to worry about,” he finished.

Instead of relaxing, his parents looked more apprehensive.

“Honey, are you in pain?” his mother asked.

“No,” Jack said honestly. “It’s kind of weird. I haven’t had any pain at all. There’s usually some pain with bladder infections, right?”

“Jack…” his mother bit her lip. “Did you happen to have a backache right before this started?”

“Yeah,” he replied, surprised. “How did you know?”

To his horror, Alicia’s eyes filled with tears. She ducked her head to hide it, but Jack saw anyway. His stomach clenched, a cold knot of worry settling in.

“Maman, what’s wrong?”

“We just want to make sure you’re healthy,” Bob said. “Son, it’s probably just a bladder infection, but we’d like you to come home for a few days. Your mother knows a good doctor who can make sure nothing serious is wrong.”

“Do….do you think something serious is wrong?” Jack asked.

“We hope not. Come home. We cleared it with George and the Falconers. It’ll just be a few days, alright?”

“Alright,” Jack said. He didn’t like seeing his mother crying and his dad’s serious tone was starting to worry him. Jack signed off a few minutes later, too nervous and jittery to hold a proper conversation.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Jack said. His mom smiled through her still-watery eyes.

“See you then. Love you, Jack.”

“Love you, too.”

—

Jack got a call from Doctor Morrison in the middle of the Montreal airport.

“Hi, Jack,” Doctor Morrison said. “We just got your urine culture back. It came back negative for any infections. I’d like you to come in for another appointment. Today, if you can.”

“I’m actually in Montreal right now,” Jack said apologetically. “My parents arranged an appointment with one of the doctors they know. A radiologist of some kind.”

“Oh. Well! That’s just fine; I was going to have to send you to a specialist anyway. Keep me updated, will you? Make sure the doctor you’re seeing has my contact info.”

Jack agreed and hung up. Bitty bumped his shoulder.

“Who was that?” he asked teasingly. “I hope you’re not chatting up cute boys on the side.”

Jack rolled his eyes. He knew the teasing was Bitty’s way to try to get him to relax a little bit. He’d been tense since his parent’s call.

“Why would I need to chat up another boy? I’ve already got the cutest one.”

“Aww, now you’re fixin’ to make me blush,” Bitty said. Jack took his hand, smiling. Maybe Bitty was right. Maybe he didn’t have anything to worry about after all.

 

Bob and Alicia met them at the main entrance of the airport.

“Hi, honey,” Alicia whispered to Jack as she hugged him. “Try not to worry, okay? It’s probably nothing, but we should make sure. Alright?”

“Alright,” Jack said, giving his mom a small smile. She patted his arm.

“Alright boys! Jack’s appointment isn’t until this afternoon. Where should we go for lunch?”

Jack allowed himself to get toted along, one arm confiscated by his mother, the other by his boyfriend, while they chatted animatedly about one cafe versus another. 

—

The second doctor’s office was considerably more posh than the one in Providence. Apparently, Alicia had booked an appointment with one of the best radiologists in the area. Jack was allowed to bring one guest back to the screening room with him, and he hoped that Bitty didn’t mind when he picked his mother. She had more experience with this kind of thing, anyway, and Bitty’s own nervousness about this whole thing was starting to show through his usual peppy manner. Bitty squeezed Jack’s hand before the receptionist took him away.

“Good luck, honey. I’ll be right here when you get back. I love you.”

“Love you,” Jack replied, and followed the kind-looking nurse. She pushed open a door, revealing a dark, small room.

“This is where we’ll do your ultrasound, Jack. Put this on and the doctor will be back in a few minutes. Is your bladder full?”

Jack nodded, taking the pull-over robe she held out to him.

“Great. You’ll be allowed to go to the bathroom after the first round of ultrasounds. For now, strip to just your undies and put on that robe.”

She closed the door with a reassuring smile. Jack shimmied out of his clothes and into the robe. Any awkwardness he would have felt about being nearly naked around a stranger was gone, thanks to years of locker rooms. His mother sat on the only chair in the room, so he hopped up on the examination table, legs swinging nervously.

Ten minutes later the doctor came in, a short, squat woman with long grey hair and smile wrinkles around her eyes. She shook Jack and Alicia’s hands. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Zimmermann. I’m Doctor Mores.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jack returned. She smiled at Alicia. “And it’s always good to see you again, Mrs. Zimmermann. How’re you doing?”

“Just fine! Ten years and still going strong.”

“That’s wonderful!”

Doctor Mores snapped a pair of gloves on.

“Alright, Mr. Zimmermann, let’s see what we’re working with.”

She explained to Jack exactly what she was going to do before she did it—something that he was extremely grateful for. She squeezed some warm-then-cold gel on his stomach, massaging it to either side of his abdomen, right above his hip bones. The ultrasound wand felt itchy and ticklish by turns, followed by a vaguely hot buzzing sensation under his skin once it was removed. Jack watched the screens carefully, not even sure what he was supposed to be seeing. All he saw were grey and darker grey blobs. Doctor Mores made a clucking sound with her tongue. The screen labeled each picture she took with the wand— long left kidney, long right, upper and lower bladder, both labeled ‘pre’. There were a few blips of color, mostly red, in the solid black of his bladder. 

“That’s the blood flow that’s making your urine so concerning,” Doctor Mores said. “See the path it’s taking?”

She wiped Jack’s stomach with a warm cloth, deep in thought.

“Okay, Mr. Zimmermann. I’ll send these images over to analyze them further. In the meantime, use the restroom—made sure you get it as empty as you can. Sit tight till I get back.”

Once again, Jack was left alone with his mother in the dark, warm room. He used the attached bathroom quickly, relieved to be able to relieve himself. 

Doctor Mores returned and they did the whole thing again, taking pictures of Jack’s empty bladder this time. 

“If you’re willing to wait for a while, we can get your results back today If not, I can call you tomorrow morning and go over it.”

“We’ll wait,” Jack said immediately. 

 

Back in the waiting room, Bitty jumped to his feet. “How did it go?” 

Jack shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Results’ll be in soon. I think.”

“Well then,” Bitty said, taking Jack’s hand and pulling him into a seat. “I guess we wait.”

—

They waited. At about the two hour mark, Bob’s leg jiggling had reached shaking-everything-around-it levels. He was never a man to sit still, and worry made him more energetic than usual. He offered to make a food run, an offer that Bitty took up at once. After clearing it with the front desk (and relocating Jack and Alicia to a different waiting room with a table in the middle) Bitty and Bob ran out to a bakery across the street. They retuned with broccoli cheese soup, fresh bread, and muffins. (“Acceptable,” Bitty deemed, and Bob had the girl behind the counter throw in three more. “What?” he asked. “We don’t know how long we’ll be waiting. And I’m a growing boy.”)

As it turned out, they didn’t have all that much longer to wait; they were just pulling the muffins out of the bag when Doctor Mores walked into the room. Alicia invited her over with anervous smile. Doctor Mores returned the smile, clutching a file labeled JACK ZIMMERMANN. She sat down, politely rejecting the muffin Bitty tried to offer her, and took a deep breath.

“I reviewed your ultrasound, Jack. We took images of your bladder and kidneys, as I told you. Unfortunately, we did not find any evidence of infection or internal hemorrhaging in your bladder.”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t really surprise him. He had known, somehow had guessed, that this, this whatever it was, wasn’t as plain and simple as a bad bladder infection. Doctor Mores continued, “We found evidence of a number of cysts growing inside your kidneys— too numerous to count. You have Polycystic Kidney Disease.”

Alicia pressed her lips together, but that couldn’t stop the small sob that escaped her. She took Jack’s hand. “Jack, baby, I’m so sorry.”

Jack let out a deep, shaky breath. He swallowed roughly, barely feeling her hand in his own.

“Mama, that’s…that’s what you have, right?”

“Yes,” she said, sounding as if the word cost her dearly. There was enough guilt and sorrow in her tone to bring tears dangerously close to Jack’s eyes. “Yes,” she repeated. “It’s a genetic disease. You had a fifty-fifty shot of getting. Honey, I am so, so sorry.”

“’S not your fault, Maman,” Jack said quietly. The tears were creeping up on him now, coming faster than he could banish them. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of crying. But he knew that if he started crying in ernest, his mother wouldn’t be able to hold it together any longer. But Alicia pulled him into a tight hug and then he was crying anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Alicia whispered against his temple, over and over.

“It’s okay,” he told her. But his body shook with sobs, so they both knew that he was lying. It wasn’t alright.

 

Jack knew his mother had Polycystic Kidney Disease. He knew that she was very sick a lot when he was little. He knew that she used to have to miss his games in the Q to go to dialysis because her kidneys weren’t filtering her blood anymore and they had to clean it artificially. He knew that she had to quit acting and modeling because she was so constantly exhausted. He knew that while he was in rehab, those months when he wasn’t allowed visitors, not even his family, she had gone in for surgery and come back with afresh scar and a new kidney that actually worked. He knew that his father had a matching scar (ironically, in the shape of a hockey stick) and that his kidney count was one as opposed to her three. He knew that she took a handful and a half of pills every twelve hours on the dot to keep her transplant kidney working, to keep her body from attacking and killing it.

He knew that PDK was a genetic disease.

 

He didn’t…..

It really shouldn’t have blind-sided him like it did. Fifty-fifty. Those were the odds. He had just got the bad end of the odds. The really bad end.

“What….what does this mean for him?” Bob asked Doctor Mores. His voice was quavering, tears threatening to spill over, but he was managing better than his son and wife. Bitty was crying as well, silently off to one side. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, and besides, this was not his moment to intrude upon. All he knew was that whatever was going on here was nothing good.

Doctor Mores sighed deeply. “Well. It’s complicated. I’d like to send Jack to see a colleague of mine— he’s one of the best PKD specialists in North America. He’ll be able to work with you on plans for the future, your condition, and what you can do to stay as healthy as possible.”

“When?” Bob asked.

“As soon as possible. I know Jack is a pro hockey player and until he sees a specialist, we can’t medically allow him to resume practice or participate in games. I’m sorry, Jack, but that’s how it has to be.”

“Will I still be allowed to play hockey?” Jack asked. He braced himself for the answer he didn’t want to hear.

“Yes,” she said, and Jack’s knees went weak with relief. “Yes, you’ll be allowed to play hockey. But there will have to be changes made. You won’t be able to play as much or as freely, and probably not for as long as you would have before. But yes, you will be able to play.”

Doctor Mores gave Bob and Alicia her contact information, saying she’d get the appointment set up for as soon as possible, and left them alone. Jack let out a shuddery breath as soon as she cleared the door, letting the tension of pent up tears leave him. He sobbed openly, louder than he wanted to, but unable to stop. Bitty instantly wrapped his arms around him, making gentle shushing sounds. 

“I’m scared,” he mumbled into Bitty’s hair. 

“I know you are, baby,” Bitty whispered back.

“We’re scared,too,” his father said, putting his arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Whatever happens, Jack, whatever this means for you, you’ll have the three of us. No matter what.”

“I know,” Jack said simply. He couldn’t find the words to express how much it meant to him, having the love and support of his family here. But as his parents held him like he was a child again, as Bitty kept whispering words of encouragement and love against his chest, and as he let himself cry he thought….for now it would be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The telling is the hardest part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, y'all! I wasn't sure if i was gonna update this, but alas, i am still having Feelings about This, so here it is. This chapter was significantly harder to write than the first one, because in my own experience, telling loved ones is the hardest part of having a serious illness. I cried about as often as jack does here, and even six months later, i still tear up sometimes if i think about it too hard.

“Okay, do you want to go over it again?” Bitty asked. Jack nodded. They were flying home, back to Providence, after a long stretch away. They’d stayed with the Zimmermanns for a week after Jack’s diagnosis, until he could get in to see the kidney disease specialist that Doctor Mores knew. Jack and Bitty had traveled to Minnesota to a well-known clinic and spent two days getting tests done. 

Jack and Bitty had been over every word the doctors had given them multiple times (Bitty had taken copious notes), but talking through it made Jack understand it better. It also made him feel a little more in control. If he understood it, he wasn’t as scared of it. 

Plus it didn’t hurt to practice what he’d probably be saying over and over, to his friends and team. 

“Okay,” he said, settling in. Bitty looked at him expectantly, notes open in his lap. Jack took a sip of water and cleared his throat.

“I have Polycystic Kidney Disease, or PKD. It’s a genetic disease—I inherited it from my mom. It causes abnormal cyst growth in the lining and tubes of my kidneys. They’re relatively small right now but as they grow, they’ll start to interfere with kidney function. Thankfully, the creatine levels in my blood are fine right now— my blood is clean and there’s no kidney failure yet. The cysts are mostly benign aside from that. But they can rupture at any time and for any reason, but most often after intense physical activity or after a blow to the kidney area.”

“Which is what happened to you,” Bitty filled in.

“Right. I took a hard check from Tater in practice, which led to a cyst rupturing. The fluid inside the cyst—mostly blood— went through my kidneys and into my bladder, which was the cause of all the blood in my urine. That isn’t very common, so I shouldn’t have to deal with it too often. I am much more likely to get bladder infections or kidney stones, though.”

“Restrictions?” Bitty asked, consulting the list he’d made.

“In order to minimize chances of it happening again, I should eliminate running, jumping, and contact sports from my day-to-day life. Obviously, I can’t do that, so I have to make some compromises. Any running I do will be on an elliptical machine to reduce the jolt-impact. I have to wear extra padding during games and practices and I am now banned from ever starting and/or participating in fights on ice.” 

He winked at Bitty. “But that last one was more my boyfriend’s request rather than the doctor’s.”

Bitty scoffed. “The doctor agreed with me, honey.”

“I know. It would be better for my health if I stopped playing hockey altogether, but the doctor said as long as I’m smart about he wouldn’t recommend taking away something I love to do. It’s my life to live, and to live as I please.”

Bitty smiled, squeezing Jack’s arm. “That’s right, baby.”

“I also have to drink plenty of water throughout the day,” Jack added, lifting his water bottle with a slight grimace. He’d had more water in the past week than the rest of the month combined.

“Explain that one to me again, I never understood what the doctor was trying to say.”

“Okay, so there’s this hormone in my brain that tells my kidneys to function, which is good. But it also tells the cysts in my kidneys to grow faster, which is bad. The hormone is being constantly transmitted, but drinking a lot of water will drown it out, so to speak. The morewater I drink the more diluted the hormone will be. So the cysts won’t grow as fast. Which is good.”

“Which is good,” Bitty agreed. “What about your diet? He wanted to start you on some experimental test thingy.”

“Which we decided wouldn’t work. The doctor said that in animal trials, reducing calorie intake by twenty percent made kidney cyst growth come to almost a standstill. Again, that’s not very realistic for me. I need all the calories I consume. But, I can cut down on salt intake, which also contributes to cyst-growth.”

“Right,” said Bitty. “Is that everything?”

“Pretty much,” Jack said. There was something with blood pressure, too, but his looked fine at the moment, so he decided not to worry about it just yet. He shuffled through his backpack, coming up with a stiff manila envelope. “Want to look at the CT scans again?”

Bitty nodded again and Jack slid open the envelope. He’d seen his scans a dozen or more times, but pouring over them again and again made it more real. Having visual evidence of what was happening to him made it easier to understand. The truth of what was happening had hit a few days after the diagnosis itself. If he were being honest with himself, he hadn’t really dealt with it yet; only shoved it down in his mind to be reviewed later. Much later. Maybe never. 

He shook his head, focusing on the papers in front of him. 

It always filled him with a sort of morbid curiosity, looking at the images of his kidneys. He knew that those were inside his body, of course, but seeing them printed out in black and white (and gray) was a weird mixture of alarming and fascinating. (He’d looked up pictures of healthy kidneys to compare and _wow_. There really was no doubt that his were fucked up).

The clearest image was of his right kidney. The cysts were the numerous dark gray blobs inside the larger light gray blob of kidney. The biggest one he had was about an inch in diameter, attached to another fairly large cyst. The doctor had told him to be extra careful about getting hit in the right kidney, because the big cyst would rupture more easily. Which would mean more blood, more pain, and higher chance of infection. Which was bad. Of course.

He and Bitty looked over the scans and talked about their plans for when they got back home. The first pre-season game was in two days, and Jack still hadn’t decided if he was going to play or not. They were planning on talking with George about it.

Just as the started the landing, Bitty said, “Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah, Bits?”

“I’m proud of you. You’re being so brave.”

“I don’t feel like I am,” Jack admitted. “But thank you. And thank you for being so good about all this. It means everything to me.”

“Oh, honey, of course.”

—

Jack went straight from the airport to the rink. He’d spent so long away from his team. And though it was kind of embarrassing to admit, he thought seeing the ice would help calm him down. Center him a little bit. The past two weeks had been whirlwind of appointments and unfamiliar places. The whole thing felt somewhat surreal. The rink was familiar. It would help.

The days after he got the news mostly consisted of crying by himself, crying when his mom started crying, and crying when Bitty started crying. The random bouts of tears had thankfully worn off, but there were still moments when panic would well up in his chest, when he could hardly breathe because of the weight in his chest. As soon as he caught a glimpse of the rink, some of the tension in his shoulders released. The ice had been his home and his comfort for years— and it still was.

George was waiting for them at the door. She hugged both Jack and Bitty and led them into her office to talk.

Thankfully, Bitty took care of most of the talking. He filled George in on how Jack was doing and the changes he would have to make. He gave her the contact information for Jack’s doctor in Providence and the one in Minnesota. She thanked him and got up to open door when a terrible thought struck Jack.

“Are you going to renew my contract after this?” he blurted out. George turned to him, eyebrows raised, and he rushed on, “I mean, this is kind of a big thing. I’m a liability now, aren’t I? You don’t want a guy who isn’t always able to play on your team.”

George sighed. “That decision is not mine alone. I can’t promise you anything solid. But I will promise you that I will do everything I can to keep you on this team. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

Jack nodded, ducking his head to hide the tears building behind his eyes. Bitty gave George a small smile. 

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

George nodded back, looking somewhat teary-eyed herself, and hugged them both again.

“We’ll plan on doing a press conference later. How about before the game on Friday?”

“Friday sounds good,” Jack said, happy to have something else to focus on. They talked about the press conference for a little while longer, discussing exactly what Jack should tell the public. Eventually, George glanced at her watch.

“If I let you go now, you might be able to catch the team. They should’ve finished up about five minutes ago, but they’re probably still goofing off out there. Jack, I’ll get a draft of that statement to you by tonight. We can hash it out more then.”

Jack agreed and all but sprinted for the door (before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to run if he could help it, and slowed into a speed walk). George’s office felt smaller by the minute, and the thought of the ice and his team seemed a lot more comfortable right then. 

Like George had predicted, most of the team was still on the ice. Practice proper was over, obviously, because no one was actually practicing.

Snowy had discarded his goalie pads and was batting pucks out the air with his bare hands, laughing the whole time at Tater, who was using the discarded goalie gloves as a stick. The rest of the team were scattered around the ice, either watching the “practice” or just skating around. Jack rolled his eyes. He was gone for two weeks and his team was already falling apart. He leaned against the entrance to the ice itself, still in his street shoes. He let out a deep breath. Yeah, he was right before—being in the rink made everything a little better.

“Captain!” Tater’s voice boomed. That got the attention of the rest of the team and suddenly Jack was swarmed by a dozen hockey players. Tater bypassed the handshake Jack offered and picked him up in a giant bear hug, squeezing him around the middle.

Behind him, Jack heard Bitty yelp in surprise.

“Tater! Put him down!” he demanded, and Tater obediently set Jack down. Bitty glanced at Jack worriedly and Jack discreetly nodded. _I’m fine._

“Sorry, sorry! I am excited too see Zimmboni again.”

“Obviously,” Bitty huffed, but his tone was more exasperated than anything.

“So you are not dying after all?” Tater said hopefully. “You are gone a long time, Zimmboni. Team thought you were dead! But you are back now, so everything is good, yes?”

“Well…” Jack said, rubbing his neck. “I was hoping I could talk to you all about that.”

“Oh no,” Tater said. The smile slid off his face.”What is wrong, Zimmboni?”

Jack hesitated. Then his face cleared. In his best captain voice, he said, “Team! Finish up and hit the locker room. Meet me here after you’re cleaned up. It’s not a mandatory meeting but it shouldn’t take too long.”

The Falconers filed out quickly, many of them shooting worried glances at Jack. He did his best to keep his face neutral.

The instant the rink was empty, Jack sat down on the bleachers, his head dropping down into his hands.

“You ready for this, sweetheart?” Bitty asked, putting his hand on Jack’s knee.

“I hope so. I’m gonna have to do it at least twice more. I think….I think we should get the Haus together. You know, Rans and Holster, Shitty, Lardo, the frogs.”

“The tadpoles?” Bitty asked. 

Jack shrugged. “I never really knew them, but if you think they should be there…”

“No,” Bitty decided. “It’ll be hard enough to get everyone together anyway. And you’re right—they were more my friends than yours.”

They were quiet for a moment. Then: “What about Johnson?”

Jack snorted. “He might show up even if we don’t invite him. But I should anyway; he really helped me out freshman year. We weren’t friends, really, but he was always there at the right moment to help me find classes or to get Shitty when I was having a panic attack. God, I haven’t thought about Johnson in ages….”

Bitty was about to agree when Falconers, freshly showered, began filtering into the rink. Jack frowned in surprise— they usually took twice as long to get out of the locker room. Not a single member of the Falconers skipped out, even though Jack knew most of them had plans. He felt stupidly grateful for the team’s support and had to swallow hard before speaking. He was no stranger to crying by any means, but it seemed the smallest thing could set him off now. Bitty squeezed his hand in silent support. Jack took a deep breath and stood up.

“First of all, I’m sorry for being gone for so long. As captain of this team, I have a responsibility to be here with you. As some of you might have heard, I’ve been having some health problems…”

—

After he told the team, after he received condolences and answered questions, Jack was exhausted. It had taken a lot more out of him than he thought it would. He just wanted to go home. He and Bitty headed for the door but they were stopped by Tater.

“Hey, Tater, what’s up?” Bitty asked, once it was clear that Jack wasn’t going to. He’d pretty much run out of social energy and words seemed like too much work for the moment. Tater wrung his large hands.

“Jack. You are my captain and my friend. It is terrible what is happening to you. And…it is my fault, yes?”

“Your fault?” Bitty said. “How is it your fault?”

“It was me who checked Zimmboni that day. I caused this all to happen, yes?”

Tater looked desperately sad and guilty. His giant shoulders slumped forward, like he was trying to be as small as possible.

“Oh, hon….” Bitty started, but Jack put a hand on Tater’s shoulder. Tiredly, he said, “This isn’t your fault. I had PKD before you checked me. Your check just made me aware that something was wrong, and that I needed to see a doctor. So really, if you hadn’t checked me, I might not have known until my kidneys started failing. At least this way, I can take precautions to stay healthy.”

“It is not my fault?” Tater asked hopefully. Jack shook his head. 

“Not your fault.”

Tater let out a sigh of relief big enough to ruffle Jack’s hair.

“Good. Zimbonni, I do not want the C anymore, yes? Keep it, stay healthy.”

—

Jack participated in practice the next day, but it was different than it used to be. The extra padding he wore— a hard shell stuffed with firm foam that wrapped around his lower back and front— threw off his balance. Every member of his team gave him a wide berth on-ice. Not only did no one check him, no one so much as bumped, nudged, or brushed against him. Once during the skirmish, when he had possession of the puck, he blazed a trail down the center of the ice. Rather than try to block him, the opposing team melted away, leaving him a straight shot to the goal.

Frustrated, he called dropped his stick and called a time out. His team gathered around him, looking guilty.

“I’m not going to break, okay?” he said. “I understand why you’re acting like this, but really, you don’t need to. Yes, I have to be careful. Yes, I have to make adjustments. Yes, I have to wear this stupid thing—” he gestured at the extra padding, already hating it. “But that’s on _me_. The best thing you can do is to treat me like normal. Other teams won’t give me any kind of special treatment. Right?”

There were a few scattered nods and mumbles of agreement. Jack crammed his helmet back on his head. “First game is tomorrow. We all have work to do. Let’s go play some hockey, alright?”

 

After that, practice went back to normal. He got checked like normal, albeit a bit more gently than he might have on a normal day. Jack took it as a victory. He focused on playing and relearning how to take a check with his new padding.

Playing hockey would never be simple and easy like it was before. There would always be that worry lurking, that fear, always that extra edge of concentration and caution needed. Always the possibility that this game would be his last. Always the chance that he would get traded away or his contract left un-renewed.

It wasn’t simple anymore. But it was still hockey.

—

That night, the old members of the Haus came over to Jack and Bitty’s apartment. It was almost a miracle they all were able to come, truth be told. Shitty was in his last year at Harvard, chomping at the bit to get out— he was already interning at a law firm almost full time in addition to his classes. Lardo lived in Boston, freelancing as an artist and illustrator, teaching art classes at a community center on the side. Ransom was a trainee at a Massachusetts hospital and Holster worked in an office somewhere in same city. Chowder, Nursey, and Dex were seniors at Samwell. Chowder had the C and some very interested NHL scouts were scheduled to be watching their first home game. 

It would have been nearly impossible to get them all together in such short notice, but Bitty had asked them to set aside this day the previous spring without telling Jack. (“I thought it would be good to see everyone again,” Bitty’d told Jack earlier that day. “You know, a nice surprise for you to open the season. I really wish that we didn’t have to use their visit to tell them about….well, I’m sorry this surprise wasn’t under better circumstances.”

“Me too,” Jack had said. “But they’ll want to hear it from me, I think.”)

Shitty arrived first, nearly smacking Bitty in the face in his haste to hug Jack.

“It’s been too fucking long! How are you? And Bits! You better be treating him right or I’ll just take him back with me to Harvard. Don’t test me, I fuckin’ will.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jack said. He hugged Shitty back. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Give the man some room to breathe,” Lardo’s voice said behind him. Shitty let out a loud screech and launched himself at her. She neatly sidestepped him, then held out her hand to help him up with a grin. 

“Good to see you, Shits.”

“Lards, I am hurt. Emotionally and also physically. Jack’s ten-thousand dollar hardwood floors are not kind to my ass.”

They hugged, ignoring Jack’s protests that the floors were actually a reasonable price, especially since he’d installed them himself last summer and—

Bitty wrapped his arms around Jack. “He’s just chirping you, honey.”

“Oh. Right.”

The others trickled in slowly. Chowder had brought Farmer, and she was more than welcome. The two were still going strong, and Jack and Bitty had a bet on when a ring would enter the equation. (Jack had money on graduation day. Bitty had his on Christmas). Farmer followed Bitty into the dining room, offering to set the table and catching him up on Samwell news.

While Ransom and Holster did their customary examination of, quote, “Jack’s sweet-ass digs”, Chowder nervously pulled him into a conversation on what to expect from talent scouts. Shitty and Lardo had already found the wine stash and poured everyone a glass. “It’s not tub juice,” Shitty said, lifting his glass. “In fact, it’s much worse.”

“If you think it’s that bad, drink the cheap stuff. Jack and I were saving that for a special occasion!”

“What’s more special than the gift of our company?” Shitty asked jovially, but switched to a cheaper wine anyway. 

Dex and Nursey were the last to arrive. After enduring chirps and returning greetings, Bitty ushered everyone into the dining room.

Dinner was a loud, messy, affair and Jack felt a twinge of nostalgia for the Haus. He loved all these loud, obnoxious people like his own family. Which was why it was so important to tell them—as much as he didn’t want to.

When dinner was finished and everyone had drifted to the living room, Jack cleared his throat and stood up. Bitty shifted closer to him, still sitting on the couch, putting a comforting hand on his leg for a moment.

“I’m actually glad all of you are here together, because there’s something I have to tell you,” Jack started.

“You’re getting married!” Shitty exclaimed, sitting upright. 

“No,” Jack said. 

“Having a kid?”

“No, Shitty.”

“Getting a dog?” 

“No. _Shitty_.”

Holster reached over and clapped a hand over Shitty’s mouth. He nodded at Jack to continue.

“It’s not very good news,” Bitty said.

The playful atmosphere of the room evaporated. Everyone fell silent. Holster slowly released Shitty.

“I’m going to be giving a press conference before the game, but I wanted to tell you all before everyone else knows.” He took a moment to press his lips together. Tears had already started welling up in his eyes, but now was really not the time for them.

“Jack, what is it?” Lardo asked softly. “You’re scaring us.” 

“I was diagnosed with my mom’s kidney disease.”

The room was silent for a long moment, broken only by a small gasp from Farmer.

“What…what kind of kidney disease?” asked Ransom cautiously. “I might know a little bit from my med classes but…”

“PKD,” Jack said. 

“Shit,” Ransom said.

“Care to share with the class?” Shitty asked, a touch of apprehension in his voice. “It’s not bad, is it? You’re fine, aren’t you?”

Jack couldn’t look Shitty in the eye. He was sure if he did, he’d start crying for real. 

“I’m fine for now, but this will be something I’ll have for the rest of my life. It’s incurable.”

Chowder was already crying. To Jack’s surprise, Farmer was too. Jack glanced at Bitty, perplexed. Of all the people to have such an intense reaction, he hadn’t expected it of Farmer. Bitty shrugged helplessly back at him.

“I have it, too,” she said unexpectedly, meeting Jack’s eyes. “Well, a variation of it—APKD. I had a transplant when I was a kid.”

She was halfway across the room before Jack could process her words. He did just in time for her to wrap him in a protective hug. “If you need anything, Jack. If you have questions or need to talk or….anything. Let me know.”

Jack hugged her back, more fiercely than he’d meant to. He certainly hadn’t expected to share this with her, but he was suddenly glad she was here. His mom’s understanding of what was happening was too close to home. He could never go to her with questions and concerns for fear of upsetting her. But Farmer…. she was someone who could really, truly get what he was going through.

Jack felt another body wrap their arms around him and he knew without looking that it was Chowder. Shitty and Lardo were next to join the hug, and soon after that everyone else had joined, too. Jack let out a sigh, comforted by the sheer number of people around him who cared. The rest of the world would only care how this would affect his hockey career, not how it would affect him as a person. This, his team, his _family_ , they cared about _him_. He knew they’d do all they could to be there for him, to help him, to let him talk or rant or cry, to make him feel safe. For the first time since his diagnosis, he felt like he could breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like a visual of what jack's kidneys look like (non-graphic, black and white CT scans/ultrasounds) you can find those at my side blog, @pkdfieldjournal. 
> 
> again, i'm marking this incomplete for now, bc i have no idea when i'm gonna add to this, but i'll probably need to at some point.
> 
> my main blog is sadhipstercat, feel free to come talk to me!


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